


The Supernatural Stalker Job

by gala_apples



Series: An Alphabet of Teen Wolf Crossovers [11]
Category: Leverage, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Polyamorous Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The job that brings them to Beacon Hills is not as advertised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Supernatural Stalker Job

The first step, Parker’s decided, is to gather intel about some of AJ’s coworkers. That can’t be accomplished only online, though Hardison’s done a good job if he does say so himself. The problem with teenagers is they either spread every detail about their lives on every form of social media they can, or they’re tech savvy, understand privacy concerns and just how much can be picked up from an innocuous comment and don’t post anything. The latter calls for some good old fashioned surveillance. And apparently they’re not the only ones to think so. About a decade ago the local high school had a one semester principal who monitored everything before leaving abruptly, before any of the more righteous parents had time to sue.

They’ve got names from AJ’s mother and pictures for most of those names, thanks to those who don’t care about privacy. Enough photos to know who to watch coming into the Beacon Hills High parking lot, at least. Maybe later they’ll approach. For now it’s more important to judge their quarry by morning light. If they’re exhausted, or coming down from a high, or even still intoxicated. Bruised or limping. Too rich for their parents’ tax bracket. Whether someone’s paid off and smug or abused and scared could make all the difference later.

The only warning they get is somebody grumbling about ‘always at the school’ in a loud voice. It’s not really much of a clue though, they’ve been hearing voices as students pass Lucille for the last twenty minutes. Eliot’s even stopped tensing at each new comment. Except then the van door opens and without as much as a hello a black guy climbs inside. He looks too old for high school. Still a kid, comparatively, but college age, probably.

“I can tell you guys are up to a big plot of some kind,” the kid says immediately upon entering. How he knows, who knows? “Now, I know you don’t know me from a hole in the ground, but I gotta ask. Can you do me a favour and not? Like, seriously. I’m getting really tired of plots. We all are. So if you could just _not_ and just shoot whoever in the head instead of fulfilling your big complicated revenge plot, we’d all appreciate it.”

Hardison stares at the kid. He looks tired. Exhausted really. Like so tired that he’d rather lay down in oncoming traffic than keep standing to wait for the bus. He doesn’t think Eliot and Parker are seeing the kid. Looking at him, maybe, but not seeing him. Eliot has to be pissed about compromised security and Parker is just focused on the series of steps they have to follow to get the job done. That means that it’s up to him to give the guy a bit of a concession.

“We’ll try to make it quick, kid.”

“Well fuck you too,” the kid mumbles. He’s obviously aiming for rage but he falls short, like that well is completely tapped. 

“Leave now, and I won’t break you,” Eliot snarls. 

Levering himself seems to take a million years. It’s almost painful to see. Nana gets out of a chair better than that. The van door is barely closed before Parker’s sharp eyes hone in on Hiram Walker, known coworker, and they all get to work.

***

Hardison is in the better of Beacon Hills’ two cafes. It’s not as bad as the boxing job -he still laughs thinking about how traumatized Sophie was with the chicken fried steak- as far as variety goes. It’s no Boston though. He misses the restaurant. Call him domestic, but whenever they’re gone for too long he gets antsy, starts wanting to wrap up the con, no matter the schedule Parker’s implemented. Home’s just a good place to be.

He takes a sip of his iced coffee and decides he’ll do a back read of Oh My Gods as he waits for the program to finish running. None of this pretentious A Softer World crap. Call him a four year old, but Hardison likes his comics funny. Like the dinosaur one. That one’s great.

He’s busy not laughing out loud like a lunatic when the table jostles. He glances up to two kids joining his table without so much as a ‘can we share?’ And if he’s not mistaken, one of them is the van kid. Lucille seven didn’t have cameras at the ready, but he’s got his laptop now. Heavily modified to be the best it can be, of course. Hardison presses a button that’ll turn on the outward facing cam. At worst he’ll have something to do facial recognition against. At best Eliot or Parker have actually been alerted by the message the emergency cam turning on will have sent to their phones. The less time between being kidnapped and his spouses finding out the better.

“So Josh here’s a pretty good hacker. I know-” the van kid interrupts himself, “ _all_ my friends know the importance of having a bunch of info when you want to attempt some elaborate multi-step plan. Maybe you don’t have the right passwords for what you’re looking for. You want some help?”

The white kid shakes his head. When he talks it’s with a strange affectation; he keeps his lips almost pursed. “No, no. Mason, don’t you know better than to denigrate a hacker’s skills? Flame wars have been started over less. I bet you a hundred bucks this guy has an online nemesis with an insult origin story.”

Hardison refuses to count Cha0s as his nemesis. After all, they thoroughly beat him.

“ _Online_ enemy. That’s cute, I guess. If you have time for it.”

Josh shakes his head a second time. “Mason, babe. Be respectful. Everyone has different priorities.”

“Okay, your honor demands we don’t help. Guess that means you can just leave now, right?”

“I told you before, buddy. We’re just here to do a quick thing, then we’re gone. You won’t even notice.”

This is a the point where a kid on the payroll would make his move. A serious threat, or a gun whipped around like a flag, or hostage taking. Instead Josh says “I really fucking hope so.” 

And then they go to the counter to buy coffees. And then they leave. It’s all very anti-climatic. By the time Eliot’s stalking into the place in belated response to the emergency cam text Hardison feels like an idiot for triggering it in the first place.

“The man from last night came at you again?”

“I wouldn’t call it coming _at_ ,” Hardison hedges. “He didn’t really do anything. I wouldn’t worry.” The potential danger’s passed, no need for Eliot to rip the kid’s head off if all he’s doing is talking.

“Oh, you wouldn’t?” Eliot’s eyebrows are doing that thing. Hardison’s ready for an angry hiss, and that’s what he gets. “That’s really nice that you wouldn’t worry about the werewolf that’s tracked you down. It’s not like they ever kill people.”

“Did you say werewolf? Seriously El?”

“They have very distinct mannerisms.”

Oh, so now fucking make believe creatures have distinct whatevers? Where does that line end? Jesus Murphy, man. “Werewolves?”

“Did you not notice the teeth he was struggling to hide?”

“Maybe he’s got braces. Surely that is saner than mythical creature?” Hardison throws out. Though it’s not like Eliot to try to string out a prank that’s obviously failing like this one is. Despite all rationality, Hardison opens the image capture folder to get a second look at Josh. One flash of normal teeth and he’s got his proof that Eliot’s full of it.

Eliot crosses his arms, biceps straining the plaid fabric. “Oh, they aren’t mythical. Very much real. I could tell you stories you don’t want to hear, man.”

Eliot’s pushing this awfully hard. Hardison clicks faster through the filmed encounter, finding nothing but the now-suspicious mouth affectation. Maybe Eliot’s not full of it?

“And they aint the only ones either. Were-wolves, were-coyotes, lizards, jaguars, horses, scorpions-”

“Werescorpion. Like a man who can turn into a giant scorpion with the legs and the tail and the poison and-”

“They can be women too,” Eliot interjects.

“That is the most horrifying combination of syllables you’ve ever said, Eliot. I’m not gonna sleep for weeks. Nasty.” Hardison shakes his head. Just nasty.

“I’ll let Parker know a Pack is watching us. We’ll need to be more alert.”

Hardison’s pretty sure if Eliot was any more alert his eyelids would be ripped off so he couldn’t miss a second by blinking, but whatever makes the man happy. Meanwhile Hardison’s got some research to do.

***

The next time Mason confronts him, Hardison’s not even working on the job. It’s Tuesday, which means it’s ‘we don’t call it a date night but let’s keep the duos as strong as the trio’ time, Hardison/Eliot edition. Thursday is him and Parker, Saturday is Parker/Eliot. As usual, Hardison’s taking his man to a movie. They’re in the concession line when it happens, because snacks are sadly not available through technology like tickets are. Technically they don’t both need to be in the line. They’ll be getting their standard; Eliot Twizzlers and a massive Coke, while Hardison’s got Minute Maid, the sad non-carbonated excuse for orange soda, and a large popcorn. Despite three of the four items being a combo, they won’t be sharing. Eliot’s got a thing against movie theatre popcorn. Microwavable too. Instead he has opinions about organic stovetop fancy chef shit. But why split up when you can hold hands in line like you’re romantic fifteen year old girls?

“You really haven’t left yet. Don’t suppose I could convince you San Francisco has way better movie theatres, huh?”

It doesn’t take turning around to know that that voice is Mason. Hardison does anyway, because Eliot would probably murder him if he kept his spine casually exposed to a werewolf.

Or two werewolves. The kid isn’t alone. The blond with him is Liam Dunbar, Hardison’s certain. It’s possible he flicked through a few years of Mason’s social media attempting to figure out who else in Beacon Hills is a werewolf. Were-mammal? That doesn’t really work either, since Eliot mentioned amphibians and insects. Strip it to the prefix only, maybe. He didn’t come to many conclusions about weres, but he definitely knows the faces that show up more than once.

Hardison raises his hands, calm down style. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about, but we’re doing good things here. Or we will be, if you stop interfering.”

“Yeah. I know you have this big plan to take down Massner.” How the fuck did Mason figure that out? Did the little bastard bug him? Note to self, sweep _everything_ after the date. “We know he employs underage kids for subminimum wage. What I’m telling you is it’s a low priority. No, more that that. It is the lesser evil by such magnitude that there isn’t even a scale system for it. So you need to stop. The pop-ups need to stay open.”

“We’ve been threatened before. It doesn’t end well.” Eliot says darkly. That’s his _I don’t mean to be sexy right now and would not welcome my butt being grabbed_ tone. Hardison learned that the hard way. Several times. Because sometimes you need to make sure things haven’t changed. 

Mason doesn’t appreciate it the same way Hardison does though. “If it was a threat, someone other than me would have come. I’m the feeble one.”

“The human one, you mean?”

“Oh, you know about that? That makes it easier, I guess. Here, then. We have Pack reasons to keep Massner’s pop-ups open.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’ll have to be,” Liam snaps back.

Mason calms his best friend -or at least Hardison assumes, they have the most photos together- with a quick hip check and fingertips on his forearm. He adds his own reply. “For now at least. Gotta talk to the Alpha before I can reveal anything else.”

***

Parker’s in a club for this part. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun, her skirt is a bit too short, and her earrings don’t match her necklace. She’s old, undercover as a teenager dressing old in order to not get carded. That sort of thing is all in the details. A year ago they’d have been too proud to ask for opinions. Now they’re soldered strong together, proof of aptitude in all the success they’ve had as a trio. Not needing Nate or Sophie makes it much easier to call them for the occasional opinion or two. And to say no. Sophie thought shaky ankle stilettos would be the cherry on top for the character. Parker thought balance during any sudden emergency was more important.

Parker’s been in the club for a matter of minutes when Mason’s posse appear. They can’t really be his pack, after all, since he denied being anything but human. Still there’s no question both girls are with him. Hardison had pulled them both -along with about thirty others- as possible supernatural friends off Facebook, he remembers their names without looking. The Asian girl with the Manic Panic red hair is Kylie. The Hispanic girl with the scowl is Hayden. Mrs Danielson hadn’t named either as persons of interest but further research shows Hayden worked in one of the very first pop ups in Beacon Hills and Kylie is currently employed. It’s part of the reason he’s not surprised to see them. Also it’s been made pretty clear they can’t really do anything in this county without being annoyed by Mason and co..

“Look. We’re not going to let you plant anything or steal anything. Just go away.”

Hayden’s statement assuages Hardison’s fears about being literally stalked. Despite the mile tether this Pack seems to keep, they haven’t actually spied on anything. If they had successfully done so, they’d know plans.

“That girl is fifteen,” Eliot growls, appearing out of nowhere, as Eliots worldwide are wont to do. Thanks to the cam Eliot’s wearing, Hardison can see the girl in question is selling test tubes of alcohol. It’s not quite the sordid acts Mrs Danielson reported on, but it’s nowhere close to legal.

“That girl needs a job,” Hayden replies, a hint of anger in her own voice. Maybe she has less control of whatever lurks under her skin than some of the others. It’s easy to be confident in the face of a brutish man if you have hands that can turn into claws.

“I was working when I was ten. Fencing for this guy Archie. Some jobs kids shouldn’t be doing.”

It’s a good thing Hardison’s in the van. Giving Parker a hug right now would not improve their chances of a successful job. Providing comfort means implying weakness, which in turn means losing respect of the powerful and the cynical. Eliot knows, he hasn’t taken one step towards their girl. Hardison knows it too, he just doesn’t care. Something that Nate didn’t always seem to get, you have to prioritise your loved ones over the con. If he was inside there’s no question she’d be in his arms.

Without Hardison to highlight the momentary melancholy, it goes unnoticed by the three teens. Instead Hayden hotly rebuts Parker’s comment. “You have no idea what’s going on here.”

“So tell me then.”

Hardison’s still occasionally surprised by this shit. Despite loving her quirks -even the awful ones like the heights thing and the enclosed spaces thing- despite being completely happy that she’ll never change drastically, Parker’s made an effort over the years to be less antisocial and there’s no denying the ability to actually talk to people has been almost entirely positive. It’s just easy to forget she can do it when five hours ago she perturbed a waiter enough that he refused to continue serving their table. This though. This could work.

This _does_ work. The next thing Hardison sees Kylie is crossing her arms. “It hurts to leave and no one can afford to stay.”

“What?”

“The previous Alpha? He and his girlfriend and boyfriend set up a beacon. A metaphysical lighthouse luring you, whether or not your logical brain can justify it. Doesn’t matter that we get their reasoning and probably wouldn’t have done differently. The facts are shit’s been wandering in exponentially ever since. And once it’s here it doesn’t leave. Everyone, everything plants roots. Not an angry immigrant speech, FYI, my vastly extended family is included,” Kylie tacks onto the end.

“You know what happens when over half the businesses in town are run by various supernatural people?” Hayden asks rhetorically, then immediately answers. “They won’t let anyone they don’t like work with them, whether that’s an enemy clan, an enemy creature, or sometimes even from the same clan. Wendigos don’t share. Anything. Ever. One of the only places that hires anyone are the pop ups. So don’t make the economy worse, okay? Some of us have to live here.”

“Even if we were to buy that, that underground illegal work is your only option, that doesn’t take away from the fact that some of these businesses are bad apples. AJ Danielson may have been pushed into a trafficking ring.”

Hardison’s expecting one of a few different reactions to that, depending on if they know her, or don’t, or are pretending not to. Whether or not they’re enmeshed with the ring themselves. He’s not expecting two out of the three of them to start laughing, loud enough to be heard over the music.

“ _That’s_ why you’re here? You could have at least investigated on the behalf of a teen who’s died or something.”

Hardison startles a little at Kylie’s comment. Neither Parker nor Eliot do. Despite Eliot saying werewolves can kill, Hardison didn’t really believe it of the mostly smiling kids in Mason’s Facebook albums. Apparently his spouses never let Crest White attitudes bother them from preparing for the worst.

“Let me tell you about AJ. AJ met her boyfriend at Dupont, when it was still open. Her boyfriend and his broodwife. As part of a rawhead’s fertility cycle it’s important that AJ and Noah both tend to the broodmother. AJ told her mom she was going to drop out and get her GED later, she had to for true love and the safety of her boyfriend’s spawn. Don’t know how Mrs Danielson got from that to prostitution, but if you want to write AJ a letter we can pass it on.”

“A letter? And by that you mean an email, like a sane rational person of the twenty first century.” It’s the first thing Hardison’s said into the comms since Parker got stopped, but he just can’t help but blurt it out. Who in God’s name writes a letter? And he’s not alone in thinking it, because Eliot asks the same, where he can actually be heard.

Mason shakes his head. “Nope. A letter. Baby rawheads are very sensitive. There’s a reason why they breed twenty to thirty and end up with four that make it past six months. Electronics are a no go.”

Hardison thought he was generally cool with the supernatural, gross-ass werescorpions aside. But the idea of a species allergic to electricity? Well that’s just everything Hardison can’t jive with.

“I’ll go. Face to face. Now.” Eliot doesn’t leave a lot of room for bickering. 

“We’ll take you, if you two get the hell out of this club.”

***

Hours later, Eliot slams the door of their rented space and goes directly to the fridge. He flicks the cap off a beer with his thumb and downs half of it in a single long swallow. Very unlike his boyfriend. Eliot’s usually all ‘savour’ this, and ‘pairs well with’ that. This is more like the man washing a bad taste out of his mouth.

“You are so lucky you didn’t see that. That is not normal.”

Hardison’s about to snap out a pithy comment about how it’s not natural, it’s supernatural, when Parker cuts in. Literally, she drops from the rafters into the space between the two of them. “AJ okay?”

“That is one disturbed girl, who found love in that.” Eliot sighs and relents. “But there were no signs of coercion.”

“So then it’s not really our problem, is it? I mean it’s not like we can judge for being weird.”

“This I’m judging,” Eliot says darkly. 

“But it’s not a job. I’ll go tell the mom, you two clean up our traces.” 

Parker doesn’t give them time to argue or suggest anything different. She just takes off. Hardison sighs, then starts erasing the trail or their presence, starting with their AirBnB agreement. This “Hale” need not ever know they were in this loft.


End file.
